


Front-Line Bodyguard

by slambam



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, I have no idea how to tag, Pain, Vulnerability, anD A TINY BIT OF BACKSTORY WOW, please someone send help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slambam/pseuds/slambam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Boss, you drinking with us or not? We’ve been waiting!” The door banged against the stone wall, Bull's bellow flooding the room. Her focus broke and the mark flared again, tendrils of green light arcing across the floor, and her unmarked hand flew to her mouth too late to stifle her cry of pain. The sounds of Bull’s footsteps ceased, but only for a moment, and Tasnim cursed every power she could think of as she pushed herself up on trembling arms.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Front-Line Bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on an idea that the mark is incredibly painful sometimes, as you may guess.  
> takes place at Skyhold, after the Inquisitor and Bull are involved before the tough love quest.
> 
> also, a side note - if anyone feels like giving feedback or a prompt of some kind drop me a line!

Tasnim jerked awake, gasping for air. Her head was pounding and she tasted blood in her mouth, felt cold stone against her cheek and under her fingertips. It took a few moments to make the dark world come into focus as panic seized her and she stayed stock still, staring wide-eyed into the gloom. Just as she recognized the corner of her desk an agonizing, searing pain ripped through her arm, echoing into her chest and taking all coherent thought with it. The Mark flared and crackled, the burst of light burning through her brain to the back of her skull. She grimaced, nauseated, and pulled her hand tightly to her chest, wrenching her eyes shut. More pain followed on the heels of the first wave and made her fold into herself, gritting her teeth and taking a deep, shuddering breath. All she had to do now was outlast it. As another wave rocked her to the core, the fear that it might not stop this time took quiet hold in her the back of her mind.

Her eyes had been strained in the low light – she was trying to puzzle through Leliana’s tiny handwriting. Her last memories were from dusk. The usual pulsing of the Mark had risen, faster and harder until she could no longer focus on reading, and the gripping spasms took the air from her lungs. Shaking and panicked, she’d staggered towards the stairs, looking for something to end it, for anything, a call for help at the back of her throat. There was a final shock of white-hot pain she felt down to her very core, and there the memory ended.

 

She screwed her eyes shut tight, exhaling, and tried to fight the ache as it penetrated to the very marrow of her bones. The darkness pressed in around her, and she wished she’d had the foresight to light a torch or at least stoke the fire while she still had consciousness, before the pain. Now, her only light was the Mark, and she held it closer to her chest, fingers tensed like talons as her hand seized.

 

“Boss, you drinking with us or not? We’ve been waiting!” The door banged against the stone wall, Bull's bellow flooding the room. Her focus broke and the mark flared again, tendrils of green light arcing across the floor, and her unmarked hand flew to her mouth too late to stifle her cry of pain. The sounds of Bull’s footsteps ceased, but only for a moment, and Tasnim cursed every power she could think of as she pushed herself up on trembling arms.

 

Bull rounded the corner and looked from her face to the floor, brow furrowing as alarm grew in his eye.

 

“Boss, what – ”

 

“I just fell.” The lie caught in her throat as she managed to stand fully, legs shaking beneath her. Something flaked off her face as she spoke, and as she lowered her eyes, searching for words, she noticed a puddle of blood on the floor, much more substantial than she might have expected. An aftershock of the most recent wave hit her and her knees buckled, but Bull caught her around the waist, easing her down on the bed as the mark continued to pulse, green light throbbing.

 

“Bullshit, you fell.” Bull muttered as he straightened, lifting a tinderbox from the table next to her bed and lighting the torch on the wall. “It was the Mark.”

 

Tasnim exhaled hard, letting her shoulders slump. She didn’t try to keep the exhaustion from her voice. There was no point in martyring herself, especially not to him. “Worst it’s been.”

 

“When did it start?”

 

She paused, closing her eyes tight, voice hitching as she struggled with another burst. “The sun was barely down, last I remember. I was unconscious.”

 

“That’s a long time to be out, Adaar.” Concern softened his voice, just enough for Tasnim to notice, and she looked down. He let the silence hang between them as Tasnim lowered her marked hand to her lap and tried to force it into a closed fist, gripping her wrist with the other hand. Bull set a hand on her shoulder and without thought she leaned her cheek against it, swallowing hard, grateful for the sensation of a body that wasn’t her own, for warmth that wasn’t the sear of the Mark.

 

When the pain subsided, Tasnim lifted her head, taking a slow breath.

 

“Do your people know this is happening?”

 

“No.” She felt broken, sounded it. The worst of the pain was gone, but it had left her hollow, without the resolve to turn him away. “They don’t need to.”

 

Bull drew back his hand, waiting a moment before pushing himself up to stand with a grunt.

 

“Yeah, Adaar, they really do.”

 

Tasnim flexed the stiff fingers of her marked hand and winced. “If it starts to be a problem, I’ll – ”

 

“Adaar. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure this is already a problem.”

 

Tasnim shut her mouth, lowering her head and smiling weakly in defeat. Bull stepped forward, setting a hand on her shoulder, and she looked back up to meet his eye.

 

“I’m going to get some supplies for your not-problem.” He paused at the look Tasnim gave him and smiled again, going so far as to wink. “Discretely. I’m not going to run off and tell Red or something.”

 

Tasnim sat still for a few moments after the door closed behind him. Her hands still shook, her head still pounded and blackness clung at the corners of her mind, pulling her downwards, back into the abyss. The massive waves of pain had become sporadic pulses, just enough to keep her tense, but the remnants of the pain still ached in her bones, deep in the center of her chest. She lifted a hand to touch the cut but her trembling fingers brushed instead a clump of hair so coated with dried blood that it felt like a twig. Revulsion ran the length of Tasnim’s body and she drew her hand back, closing it into a fist against her chest and staggering to her feet. She didn’t keep many personal effects, but she kept a pitcher and basin alongside a few large, clean pieces of cotton on top of her small wardrobe. They had never seen this much blood, but they would serve.

 

As she reached the wardrobe, she caught sight of herself in the mirror mounted on the wall and stared for a moment, paralyzed. There was more blood than she’d imagined, even more than the strand of hair had led her to believe, and she shuddered, lowering her eyes and gripping the top of the wardrobe with her unmarked hand to steady herself. Most of it was on her face, but a patch of hair was caked with it. It would have to be cut out, she knew. Her chest tightened. Blood dried like that didn’t come out.

 

With shaking hands she pulled her bloodied shirt over her head and tossed it aside - all that samite, ruined. She emptied the pitcher into the basin, then set it aside and leaned down to splash the fresh water onto her face. It was fucking cold, but at least it cleared her head. She scrubbed the blood away and as the water deepened to a crimson tint her hands stopped shaking, breath slowing. The mark dimmed, and she set her elbows on the top of the wardrobe, resting her face in her hands. She’d done this all her life and the simple action became a cathartic ritual. It was a nostalgic modicum of control in an uncertain world, and even now it calmed her like nothing else would.

 

When she was satisfied that the blood was gone and the wound was clean, Tasnim groped for one of the cotton cloths to dry her face, straightening to examine her work. She could see the gash clearly, now – it split the skin at the base of her horn, following the ridge of her forehead to her eyebrow. There were a few spots of smeared blood she missed and she wiped them away, wincing at a small pulse from the mark before tossing the cloth down. After a few moments of mental preparation, she reached back to run her fingers through her hair and shuddered as strands cracked apart around her fingertips.

 

She considered waiting to cut it until morning when she’d recovered, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep with the blood there, no matter how exhausted she was. She took careful, measured steps across the room to retrieve her dagger from her desk. The handle was familiar, solid, and she gripped it tightly in her unmarked hand as she walked back towards the mirror. Glancing up, she pulled the patch of hair out clumsily with her marked hand, careful to avoid touching it with her palm, and raised the dagger.

 

“Not really your best idea, Adaar.”

 

She hadn’t heard him come in, but that couldn’t stop the small flood of relief she felt at knowing he was back, and as she looked up she caught his eye in the mirror. There was worry – genuine worry – in his face, but there was something else, something softer. It made something rise in her chest, something that made her guts twist into a knot, and she looked away. He took the dagger from her hand and she let him, releasing her hair and lowering her hands to rest on the edge of the wardrobe.

 

“You need to do this now.” It was less of a question and more of a statement to be comfirmed.

 

Tasnim nodded, swallowing. “It’s - “

 

“You don’t have to explain, Adaar.” That softness again. Tasnim kept her eyes down. “I’m starting.”

 

Tasnim nodded and raised her head. The sound of hair being cut made her shiver, but she kept still as he pulled the blood-matted hair away.

 

“Just put it in the basin.”

 

He complied, and she turned to meet Bull’s eye, reaching out after a moment to touch the side of his neck. He was reassuringly solid and she moved her hand to his shoulder, and after another moment leaned her head forward so that her forehead rested against his collarbone. He wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her tight against his chest, and the vulnerability bit at her, unfamiliar and frightening. However, the gripping, despairing exhaustion was stronger and she pressed her face to his chest, a few cold tears sliding down her face as she took a ragged breath. He tightened his grip, rubbing the small of her back with his thumb.

 

After a few moments Tasnim stepped backwards, exhaling and keeping her head low. Bull released her and reached out to touch her cheek, ignoring the stray tears.

 

“Sit. I’ll get that wrapped up.”

 

Tasnim nodded, walking to the bed and Bull followed, standing in front of her as she sat. He reached down and retrieved a leather pouch from the mattress next to her, loosening its cord - she recognized the smell. It was a poultice he’d used before in the field, one of Stitches's. 

 

“I’m warning you now, this is going to sting like shit.”

 

Tasnim nodded, and pressed her marked hand between her knees as it gave a weak pulse.

 

The poultice didn’t disappoint. Tasnim furrowed her brow and bit the inside of her cheek as Bull pressed the paste against the wound, making sure it covered. The sting dulled a bit as he plastered it on and when he was satisfied he retied the cord, setting the pouch on the end table next to the bed. Tasnim opened her eyes and handed him the linen bandage he reached for, staring at nothing as he worked.

 

“Your mother was a Tamassran? Before she… when she was under the Qun, I mean.”

 

The question caught Tasnim by surprise, as did the hesitation in his voice. She glanced upwards, studying Bull’s face, and he met her eyes for a moment before continuing to wind the bandage.

 

“I’ve noticed a lot of the southerners don’t put so much stock in the bathing thing. That’s something the Tamassrans told us over and over, though.” He clarified, taking her silence as a request for explanation. He took another strand from Tasnim as she held it up, tying the end of it to the previous strand. “I thought your mother might have been if she taught you that. I know my tama dr- my Tamassran drilled it into me. I didn’t listen so well, I guess.”

 

Tasnim took a moment before speaking, her voice low, almost soft. “I don’t know. She never told me what she was under the Qun.”

 

Bull made a noise of acknowledgement, winding the bandage around her head one more time.

 

“So, she waiting back in the Free Marches?”

 

“No.” Tasnim kept her eyes forward, half-open. The pain had faded to a low pulse, enough to ignore. She slid the marked hand under her thigh and curled her fingers inward. “She’s been dead ten years.” 

 

“Oh.” Bull paused, uncertainty in his voice. “I’m, uh – ”

 

“It’s... it's fine. People die.” Tasnim’s voice remained soft, even except for the occasional hiccough of shock as the mark brightened.

 

Bull fell silent and continued with his wrapping, finishing in a few more moments and tying off the last loose end around the base of her unmarred horn.

 

Tasnim watched, lips parted, as he stepped back and crossed the room to clean off his hands in the basin. The words were there, hovering in the back of her throat, little words that would readily usher her across a threshold into an unfamiliar place if she spoke them. She spoke haltingly, tracing the buzzing, bright line of the Mark with her thumb.

 

“Will you stay?”

 

“Yeah. I was going to anyway. If that thing acts up again, someone should be around.” Bull tossed the cloth he used to dry his hands on the wardrobe, turning back to look at her with a grin. “I gave the guards my ‘I’m going to fuck your boss stupid’ look, so no one should come and ask you for anything while I’m up here.”

 

Tasnim blinked and then chuckled, as small and weak of a laugh as it was.

 

"The Chargers?"

 

"They'll be fine without me for a night."

 

Bull took a few long strides towards the hearth – just embers, now – and tossed on a couple new logs. As he stoked the fire Tasnim unbuckled her belt and set it aside, kicking off her boots as best she could. As she managed to get the last one off Bull returned and slid onto the other side of the bed, leaning against the headboard. Tasnim shifted back onto the bed, positioning herself against the headboard as well. She started slightly as Bull put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer, and after a few moments Tasnim tilted her head back as best she could, trying to accommodate her horns against the wall.

 

“Adaar.”

 

Tasnim opened her eyes halfway, turning her face upwards to watch his.

 

“I get why you don’t want to tell them. I think they should know, but I get it.” He kept his gaze forward, shifting as Tasnim settled next to him. “Whatever you do, whatever they think - I’m not gonna let that thing kill you. Front-line body guard, it's in the contract. You’ve got me whether you like it or not.”

 

Tasnim reached up to touch his hand, and when she found it he held it tight. It took her a few moments to remember it was the hand with the Mark, and fear gripped her for a moment. After a few tense moments, the Mark remained quiet, glowing dimly, and Tasnim relaxed. She pressed closer to Bull's side, closing her eyes and pressing her cheek to his chest. She didn’t protest as he slid an arm under her legs, pulling them across his lap, and she pressed her cheek more fully into his chest, taking a long breath.

 

“I'll tell them soon,” She murmured. Bull tightened his grip around her shoulders, setting his other hand on her calf.

 

After a small pause, she spoke again, voice low and hoarse.

 

"Thank you."

 

The hand on her shoulder moved slowly up to the side of her neck, and Bull ran the blade of his thumb over her jaw. The gesture was more comforting than she wanted to admit, but she pressed still closer, resting a hand on his chest and turning her face towards him.

"No problem." 


End file.
